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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22664296">Letters In The Sand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishTubist/pseuds/ImpishTubist'>ImpishTubist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blasphemy, Genderfluid Character, Memory Loss, mention of child death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:49:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22664296</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishTubist/pseuds/ImpishTubist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What happened back there?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Angel, I think I’m losing my mind.”</i>
</p><p>In the years after the failed Armageddon, Crowley is slowly finding his way to a new normal. But soon he is plagued by unsettling dreams, gaps in his memory, and the persistent feeling that something is terribly <i>wrong.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>155</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please heed the tags on this one, as they may change with subsequent chapters. Many thanks to Alston for allowing me to scream at them on Twitter for the entire week it took me to spit out this story, and for screaming at me in return as I caused Crowley more and more pain.</p><p>Title comes from Queen’s “‘39”. </p><p> </p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>All your letters in the sand cannot heal me like your hand</i>
  </p>
</div>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Three weeks after the failed Apocalypse, Aziraphale sold a book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t been there himself to witness it, curled up in snake form on a nearby shelf. Out of view of the customer and basking in the mid-morning sun, he heard the transaction occur and nearly transformed back into human shape out of sheer surprise. He caught himself in time, and waited until the woman had left before slithering down and shifting back into his usual form.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Selling books now, are we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a new world, my dear,” Aziraphale said, flipping the shop’s sign to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Closed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “A new beginning. One must change with the times.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To new beginnings,” Crowley said later that night, holding up his glass of whiskey. Aziraphale’s lips curved into a smile, and he touched his glass to Crowley’s in a silent toast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing changed after the Apocalypse, and yet, everything did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley met with Aziraphale for lunch, took him out to dinner, fed ducks with him in the park. They drank themselves into oblivion, sobered up, and repeated the process. More often than not, Crowley fell asleep on the sofa in the angel’s back room, and woke to find a blanket had been draped over him sometime in the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything was like it had been before, but more. More lunches, more dinners, more strolls through the park. More bantering, more bickering, more laughter. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Someone </span>
  </em>
  <span>help him, he adored Aziraphale’s laugh. Crowley went days, and then weeks, without seeing the inside of his flat. His plants never suffered for his neglect--they knew better than to disappoint him like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And still, he never said the words.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had no idea what he was frightened of. Rejection? It was fairly obvious that Aziraphale shared his feelings, and had done for centuries. The two of them had good reason not to act on those feelings before, but now? Heaven and Hell were always going to be a threat, Crowley supposed. There was always a chance that the fear would wear off, and both their sides would come looking for revenge again. But they’d outsmarted them once; they could do it again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing to hold him back, and still Crowley couldn’t bring himself to say the words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps it didn’t matter. He knew, and Aziraphale knew, and in the end, the words didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was here, now, and he was never going to leave the angel’s side again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The summer after Armageddon, Aziraphale decided to clean out his shop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley thought he was joking, until he walked into the closed shop one morning to find the shelves in complete disarray and boxes littered across the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s all this, angel?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, just doing some spring cleaning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s July,” Crowley said blankly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s only a saying, Crowley.” Aziraphale straightened and fixed him with a grin. “I haven’t done a proper cleaning in two centuries. There are plenty of books I’ve held on to for far too long, and too many knickknacks I’ve accumulated over the years. I need to clear out some of the junk to make room for other books.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, you do own a bookshop. You could clear out the books by, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>selling </span>
  </em>
  <span>them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked horrified. “Don’t be ridiculous, Crowley, I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did </span>
  <em>
    <span>once</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Almost a year ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Special exception,” Aziraphale sniffed. “She was a bright young lady and I had three copies of that particular book anyway. Now, are you going to stand there, or are you going to help me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to stand here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very funny.” Aziraphale thrust a box into his hands. “I’ve already sorted through the books in aisle five. Everything that’s left can be packed up in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley moaned and complained because it was expected of him, because it was all part of this dance that they did. But he was going to do it anyway, and Aziraphale knew it. It was only a bonus that helping out with the cleaning meant that he got to see Aziraphale without his jacket and waistcoat, one button open at his collar and his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the blond hair that dusted his strong forearms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Half an hour into his task, Crowley dropped a book. It landed facedown, half the pages coming loose and scattering across the floor. Cursing, Crowley gathered the spine and pages together and tossed them in the box. A photograph fell free, and fluttered to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, angel.” Crowley stooped and scooped up the photo. It was old, not from this century or the last one. He flipped it over to read the inscription. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>T, 1873</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, dear?” Aziraphale appeared at his side. “What have you found?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not sure.” Crowley flipped the photograph back over and peered at it. It was an unremarkable picture--an infant in their bassinet. They were dressed in a simple gown, tiny hands balled into fists, staring wide-eyed at the camera. “Found it in one of your books.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How odd.” Aziraphale took the photograph from him. His hand trembled for a second, almost too briefly for Crowley to notice, and then steadied. He read the inscription on the back, then studied the picture. “Perhaps I can find the family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After a hundred and fifty years? Good luck with that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, it feels wrong to simply...discard it.” Aziraphale wandered off again, photograph in hand. “Thank you for finding it, my dear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, no problem,” Crowley muttered, unable to figure out why he felt so unsettled. After a moment, he turned back to his task, and started packing up the rest of the books.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley had picked up a lot of hobbies over the centuries. Most he had grown bored with and discarded after a few years. Only a few had lasted--his love of plants, for one. Annoying Aziraphale, for another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had picked up sketching in the late 1400s, influenced by the lover he had kept in the waning decades of the century. He still had one of Leonardo’s sketches hanging in his flat, supernaturally preserved so that it would never fade. It didn’t hurt to look at now as it once had, but every once in a while he felt a pang when his eyes fell on it. He’d been good to Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little over a year since the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t, and Crowley wasn’t sleeping well. To be fair, he hadn’t been sleeping well prior to that, either. He’d fallen out of the regular habit of it on the night he had been tasked with delivering the Antichrist. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but his human corporation betrayed him at every turn, keeping him up at night with thoughts of all the ways Hell was going to spend eternity torturing him, or thoughts of the innumerable horrible ways they could kill Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d thought that things would change, after their trials. With Heaven and Hell off their backs, they were essentially retired. They had all of eternity to enjoy this planet they had fought so hard to save (even if they’d been misguided in those efforts and had spent eleven years raising the wrong child). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But still, he couldn’t sleep. Not like he had before. Sometimes he managed a few hours of it, but never a full night. On the nights that he couldn’t sleep, when he found himself awake at an unreasonable hour with nothing to do, he’d usually wile away the hours antagonizing humans on Twitter or watching reruns of </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Golden Girls</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lately, though, Crowley found himself sitting up against his headboard in the obscene hours of the morning with a sketchpad open on his lap, his hand largely moving of its own accord. He didn’t pay much attention to the sketch as he was making it--it seemed this was the only time his mind fell silent. After, he’d close the book and toss it on his bedside table before falling asleep, as though all he needed was to get the images out of his mind and then he could rest. He filled two whole sketchpads that way before he thought to go back and leaf through the drawings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Faces. Human faces, infants and toddlers and children and adults, but not one of them was a face that he recognized. It was several minutes before he realized that the sketches were all of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>same</span>
  </em>
  <span> person--a woman that he had drawn in several stages of her life, over and over and </span>
  <em>
    <span>over </span>
  </em>
  <span>again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why had he done that? Who was she? The longer he stared at the sketches, the more it became apparent that he had no idea who she was--and yet. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And yet</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There was </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>about her, something that stirred a memory in the back of his mind. He had encountered thousands, millions of humans over the millennia. She could well have been one of them, but he was certain he had never known her name. He had a good memory for names and faces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, at a certain point, all humans started to look the same to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale might know, but Crowley recoiled inwardly from the idea of showing him these sketches. Why? It wasn’t as though Aziraphale didn’t know about Crowley’s hobby. He’d never kept it secret from the angel. But the idea of showing him these felt too...intimate. Personal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley closed the sketchpads and set them aside. He’d mull it over, see how he felt about it in a few years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, they had all the time in the world now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley sensed his presence the moment he entered London, felt it deep in the pit of his stomach an hour before Adam Young walked through the shop's front door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hullo, Mr Crowley," he said, dropping his school bag on the floor and throwing himself on the uncomfortable sofa Aziraphale kept in the main room to discourage customers from wanting to sit and peruse the books. "Whatcha doing?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's it look like I'm doing?" Crowley was over by the window, inspecting the plants there for any unacceptable spots or, Someone forbid, dead leaves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you executing any plants today?" Adam sat up eagerly. "Can I watch?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hm, no, not today," Crowley said after a contemplative moment. "But I'm keeping a close eye on this lot. They've been slacking lately, and tomorrow they might not be so lucky." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam had disapproved of Crowley's gardening practices when he first discovered them, but once he realized that Crowley's version of "executing" his plants involved moving them to the rooftop garden instead, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>delighted </span>
  </em>
  <span>in threatening the plants along with Crowley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aziraphale," Crowley called in the direction of the stairs. "The godson you tried to murder is here!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello, Adam!" Aziraphale called down. "I'll join you in a moment, dears." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's he doing?" Adam asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He </span>
  <em>
    <span>says </span>
  </em>
  <span>he's rearranging furniture, but he's been up there four hours and I haven't heard a sound. His private collection's up there, he's probably reading the Wilde again," Crowley said. "You in London for the day?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, Mum wanted to do some shopping. I said I'd come hang out here, do some homework. Shopping is </span>
  <em>
    <span>boring</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And homework isn't?" Crowley arched an eyebrow at him over his sunglasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not the history bit," Adam said cheerfully. He opened his bag and pulled out his laptop, and then made a face. "Geez, you gotta tell Mr Fell to get some WiFi in this shop." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Getting the angel to modernize is a losing battle and you know it." Crowley snapped his fingers, and the WiFi signal from the shop next door suddenly extended to theirs, without even needing the password. Adam lit up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What is it about history that's got you all excited?" Crowley picked up his mister and moved to the other side of the shop, where half of Aziraphale's desk space had been dedicated to several more houseplants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gotta write a paper on World War I," Adam said cheerfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I thought you didn't like war." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, but this one happened </span>
  <em>
    <span>ages </span>
  </em>
  <span>ago," Adam said. "It's not like anyone I know was in it. Hey! You woulda been around then, right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We've been around for six thousand years, kid."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I interview you?" Adam asked. "And I can put it in my paper!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you going to tell your teacher? You found two middle-aged men in Soho claiming to have lived through the first World War, and wrote your paper based on their account?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nah, I'll just say I got everything you told me from a book. It's not like she's going to check. Please?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You'll have to Aziraphale," Crowley said. "I can't tell you much about it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ugh, but he's </span>
  <em>
    <span>upstairs</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Adam whined, like he didn't have two perfectly good legs. Or the power to bend reality and materialize upstairs in a wink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, well, he's the only one of us who was awake during that time," Crowley said. "I was in the middle of an eighty-year nap." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam blinked at him. "No, you weren't." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley gave him a look. "Remind me again which of us was alive back then? I think I'd know whether I was asleep or not."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You weren't asleep," Adam said stubbornly. "That's not possible."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Demon, remember? Doesn't need to eat or breathe? I'm perfectly capable of falling unconscious for centuries, thank you </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>much." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure, but you </span>
  <em>
    <span>weren't </span>
  </em>
  <span>asleep." Adam got up from the sofa and came over to him. He peered up at Crowley, his gaze intense and unnerving. Crowley resisted the urge to take a step back. He wasn't afraid of a thirteen-year-old </span>
  <em>
    <span>child, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>absurd</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Adam reached up and tapped Crowley's forehead. "There's a gap, you see. There wouldn’t be a gap if you’d been asleep. You’d still have memories from dreams and the like. You were awake, but there’s something...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam frowned and trailed off while Crowley gaped at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>talking </span>
  </em>
  <span>about?" he demanded. "I'd know if I was awake! I'd know it better than you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Adam said absently. "You wouldn't."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at Crowley for a moment longer, and then said, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I see." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Crowley demanded. "What do you see?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Someone's taken them from you. Your memories. Plucked 'em right out of your head." Adam's voice had taken on a faraway note, and though his eyes remained fixed on Crowley, there was something distant and unfocused about his gaze. A shudder crawled down Crowley's spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Adam?" Aziraphale's footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Adam blinked several times. "Crowley, is everything alright?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're fine, angel," Crowley said, as Aziraphale appeared on the main floor of the shop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, good. I felt..." Aziraphale pressed a hand to his chest. "I felt--</span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley gave Adam a Look behind his glasses, and Adam had the good grace to at least look somewhat sheepish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, Mr Fell," he said. "I was showing Mr Crowley some tricks." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I see," Aziraphale said, disappointment plain in his tone. "I thought you weren't going to use your powers anymore, dear boy. You wanted to be completely human, you told us." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I know," Adam said, dropping his gaze to the floor, and Crowley was impressed at how sincerely contrite he managed to sound. "I won't do it again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not a problem, Adam," Aziraphale said, brightening all at once. "Would you like some cocoa?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam stayed for most of the afternoon, and left only after he had secured promises from both Crowley and Aziraphale that they would make it out to Tadfield sometime before Christmas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, and Anathema’s having her baby soon!” Adam said excitedly when he was halfway out the door. “You gotta come meet the baby after it’s born.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Certainly, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, waving as Adam bounded out onto the street and into his mother’s waiting car. “What a charming child.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, he’s not bad for an Antichrist,” Crowley said. “Didn’t know Book Girl was pregnant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh--didn’t I tell you? She sent a letter a while back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Must’ve slipped your mind, angel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, she’s expecting with that gentleman of hers. I expect we’ll receive an announcement after the child is born.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something about saving the world that brought people together. Crowley and Aziraphale hadn’t set out to do it, but somehow they found themselves keeping up with Adam and his friends, as well as Newt and Anathema, and even Madam Tracy. Mostly this consisted of an exchange of letters and postcards (Aziraphale handled all the correspondence, but everything came to the bookshop addressed to the two of them anyway). Crowley got the occasional text from Adam, and the boy had the unnerving tendency to just appear in the bookshop now and then. And, whenever Adam asked, they would drive out to Tadfield for tea or Sunday lunch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, here they were. Two years had gone by already. The Antichrist was growing like a weed. Anathema and Newt were having a baby. The humans who had stood with them at the end of the world were growing, aging. Soon they would be dying. Mayflies, they were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drink, dear?” Aziraphale asked, touching Crowley’s elbow as he moved past him. Crowley followed him into the back room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always, angel. What did you have in mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale poured them both a glass of wine, and Crowley settled in his usual spot on the sofa. Aziraphale, instead of taking his usual chair, sat next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was easy. It was always so </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy</span>
  </em>
  <span> with Aziraphale. Conversation flowed without Crowley having to think about it, and the wine went down without him noticing it. They were three bottles in before he registered how drunk he was, how Aziraphale was leaning heavily against him, how his jaw hurt from laughter. He didn’t know which of them moved first, but suddenly he was holding Aziraphale’s hand, fingers laced tightly together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “I’m awfully glad we saved the world.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel, you’re drunk,” Crowley said fondly. “You realize we didn’t actually do anything of use, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We tried. That’s what matters.” Aziraphale’s eyes drifted closed for a moment. “Adam s’lovely boy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Good kid. Bit weird, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spooky,” Crowley amended. “S’what he is. Spooky. Says my memories are gone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale went very still. "What?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Says I lost about eighty years." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sobered up at once. Crowley, not wanting to be sober for this, didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know our lifespans are, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>endless</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and that eighty years is practically nothing, but wouldn't you notice something like that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"S’what I told him, but he was pretty insistent." Crowley rubbed his forehead. "He says that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn't </span>
  </em>
  <span>fall asleep after our argument in 1862. I was awake all those decades after." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I </span>
  <em>
    <span>suppose </span>
  </em>
  <span>that's possible," Aziraphale conceded reluctantly. "But it seems unlikely. I admit, I...didn't look for you as hard as I should have, after our fight. It was almost 1900 before I checked on you, and that's when I found you asleep. Perhaps you hadn't been asleep for as long as I believed at the time." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, maybe. Still doesn't explain things. He says I was awake for </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>eighty years." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That can't be right," Aziraphale said. "I checked up on you. Collected the mail, watered the plants, swept the dust off of you every decade or so." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Armageddon must've crossed his wires somehow," Crowley said. "Great, now we've got a faulty Antichrist." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale got up to make them cups of tea, and sat on the sofa next to Crowley once again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you staying here tonight?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley froze. He didn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Something about being asked what he wanted to do--he’d never voiced it out loud. Every night he’d spent in the bookshop before now could be passed off as a happy accident, even when it happened several nights in a row. They’d drink, Crowley would pass out at some point, and miraculously wake without a hangover sometime in the late morning. He always had plausible deniability at his disposal, before. But he’d never said </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to kip on the sofa here tonight, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Aziraphale had never said </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stay tonight, dear, there’s no reason for you to go back to your flat. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d hesitated for too long, for then Aziraphale was saying, “Only if you want to, of course, I just thought--well, it’s awfully late, and--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley leaned in, and Aziraphale quickly turned his head away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no way Aziraphale could have misinterpreted his intention. To his credit, he didn’t try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, my dear,” he said softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still too fast for you, angel?” Their hands were clasped once again; Crowley squeezed gently. “I can slow down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you slowed down any further, you would be going backward.” Aziraphale swallowed; Crowley watched the bob of his throat. “You shouldn’t. Wait for me, I mean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you not want me to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. He wouldn’t meet Crowley’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he said finally. “We can’t do this, Crowley. We’re not meant to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled his hand out of Crowley’s grasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re still welcome to stay, of course,” he said softly, though he was still avoiding Crowley’s gaze. “The bed upstairs is more comfortable than this old thing. I never use it. Someone might as well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley didn’t sober up that night, and suffered through the resulting hangover without any intervention. He deserved it, for being such an </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t talk about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Life went on as usual, with this large, unspoken thing between them. Crowley worried over it for several days, replaying the night in his head, wondering where he had gone wrong. In the end, he decided that the angel was still frightened--after all, six thousand years of looking over one’s shoulder was a difficult habit to break. It was fine. Crowley could wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the two years since Not-Armageddon, he’d become a fixture at the shop, to the point where Aziraphale’s regular visitors started commenting on it. He knew this because on the days when he was in snake form, hidden away in the shelves, he often heard those visitors ask after Aziraphale’s “young man” and wonder if he was all right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, he’s fine,” Aziraphale would invariably reply. “Off having a nap, I expect. The poor dear works too hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was difficult to snort in snake form, but Crowley managed it anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was napping on Aziraphale’s desk in the back room on one such day--that was where the sun landed at this hour of the afternoon--when he noticed that he had curled up on a pile of Aziraphale’s correspondence. The top letter was from Anathema, announcing the arrival of a baby girl. The letter was dated three weeks ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oi, angel!” he called, once he’d shifted back into the proper form. “You didn’t tell me about the baby!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale poked his head into the back room, saw the letter that Crowley brandished at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, goodness, did I forget again?” Aziraphale winced. “I’m so sorry, dear. I’ll forget my own head next.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We promised the Antichrist we’d go visit,” Crowley said. “You don’t want to upset the Antichrist, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That rather defeats the point of saving the world, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale said tiredly. “Yes, we should make a trip out there, you’re right. How does next Saturday sound? I’ll give her a ring and make sure it works for her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bustled off again, and Crowley shook his head. He loved this ridiculous creature so much, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt </span>
  </em>
  <span>sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course Aziraphale forgot about their impending visit. At this point, Crowley wasn’t even surprised anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hello, my dear.” Aziraphale ushered him into the shop the next Saturday. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m not pleased to see you, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re heading out to Tadfield, angel, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s sunny smile faltered. He recovered it, though there was a false note to it now. “Oh, goodness, was that today? Completely slipped my mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me you’ve got something else on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, of course not. Unless you’d rather check out that new Italian place for lunch? I hear it’s been getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>excellent </span>
  </em>
  <span>reviews, and it’s booked out for the next six months.” Aziraphale wiggled his fingers. “I could...get us a table?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you trying to tempt me, angel?” Crowley asked, grinning slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it working?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, he could kiss Aziraphale. It was so tempting, he was so close. The morning sunlight streaming in through the window caught his pale flyaway hair, creating an almost literal halo around his head. He truly was beautiful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Crowley shook his head. “Nah, we told Book Girl we’d be there today, didn’t we? I’ll get us a table tomorrow for dinner, how does that sound?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s smile dimmed, but he nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, you’re right. We shouldn’t go back on our word. Tadfield it is, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he wasn’t his usual chatty self in the car, leaving most of the conversation to Crowley, which meant that they spent most of the ride in silence. Crowley wasn’t in the mood for Queen--the Bentley had been playing </span>
  <em>
    <span>Made In Heaven </span>
  </em>
  <span>on repeat for almost three weeks now--so the silence between them felt oppressive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale,” Crowley ventured finally, when they were half an hour out. “Is everything alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” Aziraphale pulled his gaze from the window and looked at Crowley. “Oh, yes. Quite fine. Tickety-boo, in fact.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” Crowley pressed. He knew when the angel was lying. “We don’t have to do this. I just thought...you wanted to see the baby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale touched his knee, feather-light, but his fingers burned like a brand. “I know that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to see the baby, my dear. And so do I, of course.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>sound </span>
  </em>
  <span>like he wanted to see the baby, and Crowley couldn’t parse his tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” he said finally. “Next stop, Jasmine Cottage.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt greeted them at the door, looking as harried and sleep-deprived as Crowley expected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The baby’s asleep,” he said at once. “Anathema, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, dear boy,” Aziraphale whispered, patting him on the arm as he passed. “And we won’t do a thing to wake either of them. Where would you like these?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He carried flowers, a stuffed bear for the baby, and wine for the parents. Newt gave him a dazed look, so Crowley said, “I’ll take them to the kitchen, angel, they can deal with them later. I think you need to find Mr Witchfinder here a chair before he collapses.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale took Newt’s arm and guided him into the living room while Crowley carried the gifts into the kitchen. Anathema appeared as he was arranging the flowers in a vase. On the surface, she seemed more put-together than Newt, but Crowley could tell that she was one stiff breeze away from folding like a deck of cards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re supposed to be asleep, Book Girl,” he said. The sink was full of dirty dishes. A snap of his fingers, and they were clean and dry. He glowered at them until they arranged themselves back in the cabinets where they belonged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anathema stared at him, her eyes glazed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s something wrong with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, I’m a demon,” Crowley grunted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. Something </span>
  <em>
    <span>about </span>
  </em>
  <span>you...is wrong.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s skin prickled. “Wrong how?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Anathema said slowly, almost dreamily. “I sensed it at the airbase, too, but there was so much happening that day…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She put out a hand, like she was about to touch him, and he instinctively recoiled. She paused, hand in mid-air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a part of you that’s missing,” she said. “It’s just--gone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam’s words from earlier that autumn came back to him. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re missing some memories,” Anathema said. “I can’t tell how much is gone, but someone took them out of your head. Patched over the gap so you wouldn’t notice, but it was hasty. It’s starting to crack.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley said, words forcing their way out of his throat of their own accord, “I keep having these dreams.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t erase memories,” Anathema said. “They’re physical. They can’t be vanished from existence. They can be destroyed, like any other object, but not erased. If they were stored somewhere, and you kept coming in contact with that object...they might be leaking through.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sleep deprivation is getting to you,” Crowley said finally. “Come on, back to bed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made to guide her out of the room, but she blinked rapidly at him, seeming to come back to herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hello. When did you two arrive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just now. Aziraphale’s looking after your boyfriend. He’s in even worse shape than you are. It’s astounding that your species keeps procreating, you know that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, the baby,” Anathema said, suddenly veering off down the hall. “Let me go get her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shrugged and joined Aziraphale in the living room. Newt was settled in an armchair, staring blankly at Aziraphale while he chattered away. Crowley sat next to Aziraphale on the sofa. Aziraphale squeezed his knee, briefly, and then withdrew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here she is.” Anathema came into the room, the baby bundled in her arms. "Would you like to meet her?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something flickered across Aziraphale's face, and for a moment, Crowley thought he was actually going to refuse. But then he plastered on a smile and said, "Of course, my dear." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She handed the bundle of green blankets to Aziraphale first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We named her Lilith," she said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good name, that," Crowley deadpanned. Aziraphale’s lips twitched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you did like being her, didn’t you?” he murmured. If Anathema or Newt heard the comment, they didn’t say anything. They were probably too exhausted to notice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale nestled the baby comfortably in the crook of his arm, so naturally that Crowley had to wonder where he got it from. Part of being an angel, he supposed. The ability to handle all creatures, great and small, with perfect ease. The ability to nurture. To love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What a lovely child," Aziraphale said, touching the baby's cheek. She snuffled in her sleep, but didn't wake. "You must be so proud." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t quite believe she’s real, to be honest,” Anathema said. “I carried her for nine months, but...somehow it didn’t seem </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not until she was in my arms.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Aziraphale said softly, still stroking the baby’s cheek. “I can understand that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifted the baby in his arms, as though to hand her back to Anathema, and Crowley protested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oi, angel, what about me?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh." Aziraphale faltered. "I'm sorry, my dear, did you want--" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I drove your holy arse all the way out here today, I'm not leaving without a cuddle." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anathema stifled a cough that was probably a laugh. Aziraphale hesitated for a second, then half-turned on the sofa and transferred the baby to Crowley's arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley liked kids, had </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>liked kids. They were tiny terrors, little agents of chaos, and he loved that. More than that, children were curious, and they asked </span>
  <em>
    <span>questions</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he had never understood what was so terrible about asking questions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He liked children. He liked babies. Those seven years spent raising Warlock before he got too old for a nanny had been more enjoyable than Crowley cared to admit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So why did it suddenly feel like his heart was being wrenched from his chest? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was a beautiful child, with a head of dark hair already and full, round cheeks. She stirred as he settled her in his arms, and two wide, blue eyes blinked up at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All at once, he couldn't breathe. His heart--his utterly useless heart, this unnecessary organ that came with his corporation--stuttered to a halt. Pain gripped him, squeezing his chest. Lilith smiled up at him. Something splashed on her cheek, and he realized it was a tear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His </span>
  </em>
  <span>tear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't--" he croaked, breathless, and pushed the baby back into Aziraphale's arms. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled out of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, he pulled great gulps of air into his lungs. He leaned his forearms against the hood of the Bentley, dropping his head between his arms. His heart had started up again, but erratically, stuttering in his chest as he fought to get himself under control.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong </span>
  </em>
  <span>with him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Crowley." Aziraphale's hand was warm on his back. "What is it? What's wrong?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know." His voice was raw. "I don't </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pressed his wet face into his forearm. He was shaking, and he couldn’t stop crying. He heard someone come out of the house, and then murmured voices. Whoever it was then left again. Aziraphale’s hand never left his back, but now he put an arm around Crowley’s waist and got him into the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Breathe, my dear.” Aziraphale held one of Crowley’s hands clasped in both of his. “Breathe for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley had no idea how long they sat there until he got himself under control. When at last the tears ceased and he could think properly again, he dragged his sleeve over his cheeks and let out a shaky breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened back there?” Aziraphale asked softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel,” Crowley managed, “I think I’m losing my mind.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story tags have been updated with new warnings. Please steer clear if that is not your thing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley dropped Aziraphale off at the bookshop, refused the offer of a drink, and drove straight back to his flat. Better to have the inevitable mental breakdown alone than with an audience. He kicked the door shut behind him, locked it, and drew all the blinds in the flat with a snap of his fingers. He made it as far as his office, collapsing on his throne and summoning a bottle of whiskey. Crowley didn’t even bother with a glass, instead drinking straight from the bottle, long pulls that burned him from the inside out. </p><p>When he was sufficiently drunk--when every breath stopped feeling like crushed glass in his chest, when that invisible hand had loosened its vise-like grip on his heart--he grabbed his sketchpad and sat on the floor in the main room. His thoughts were a confusing muddle. He couldn't make <em>sense </em>of it all. He filled page after page with drawings, tearing each page out of the pad as soon as it filled up, ripping them away to scatter across the floor so he could begin again. He scrawled words, too, utter nonsense, but his hand was moving independent of his mind and he had no choice but to follow it. </p><p>He was only faintly aware of the passage of time. His flat brightened, became pitch dark, brightened again. He finished the whiskey, sobered up, finished it, repeated the process over and over. </p><p>The phone in his office rang. He ignored it. His mobile pinged, too, calls and texts coming in that he refused to acknowledge. He couldn’t. He couldn’t focus on anything aside from these sketches, from the images and words that swirled around in his mind and crowded out all other thought. </p><p>It was all linked, somehow. It had to be. His incessant dreams, his inability to sleep, the missing memories, the girl that he couldn’t stop drawing. Someone had done this to him. Someone had stolen his memories. But why? Was it Heaven? Hell? Both? What kind of punishment was it supposed to be, unless it was designed to slowly drive him mad? Which, if so, they weren’t far from getting what they wanted.</p><p>And, most importantly: was Aziraphale in danger, too? What if his memories were being tampered with as well? It seemed that was the case, with his chronic forgetfulness of late. Who was doing this to them, and how could he stop it? Anathema would be no help in her current condition, and Shadwell was a joke. Adam...Adam was a child. He’d renounced Satan, turned his back on his powers. He wanted so desperately to be <em> human </em>. Crowley would never ask him to investigate a matter like this on his own behalf, but if Aziraphale was being threatened as well…</p><p>He couldn’t allow Aziraphale to come to harm. Not after all they had been through. Not after they had survived their own executions and finally been granted their freedom. After six thousand years, they could <em> live </em>, and he was going to cling to this new life with everything that he had. If Hell wanted him, they would have to drag him back kicking and screaming. And if Heaven wanted Aziraphale, they would have to go through him first.</p><p>And then there was someone crouching in front of him, someone who put their warm, gentle hands on his shoulders and tried to meet his eyes.</p><p>“Crowley?” Aziraphale shook him slightly. Crowley batted his hands away. “Crowley, my dear...what are you doing?”</p><p>“Busy,” Crowley muttered, his hand flying across the page.</p><p>“Yes, I can see that,” Aziraphale said softly. “Busy with what, might I ask?”</p><p>Crowley grunted, but didn’t respond. </p><p>“I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Have you been here all this time?”</p><p>“How long’s it been?” Crowley flipped to a blank page of his sketchpad. Aziraphale took it from his hands, the pencil as well. </p><p>“Since Jasmine Cottage? Two weeks.” Aziraphale looked around at the mess. “Crowley, what <em> is </em>all this?”</p><p>“Drawings.”</p><p>“Yes, but <em> why </em>?”</p><p>“Dunno, I just...I just had to get it <em> out </em>.” Crowley scrubbed his hands through his hair, then got to his feet. His joints popped in protest.</p><p>“Had to get <em> what </em> out?” Aziraphale still looked bewildered. He knelt and picked up the nearest piece of paper from the floor. Crowley saw it was one that he had used to scrawl a series of names: <em> Lilith, Deborah, Leah, Talitha, Delilah, Shiloh, Mary. </em> The names didn’t <em> mean </em>anything to him, but they’d been echoing in his head for hours. Crowley watched as the color drained from Aziraphale’s face.</p><p>“I keep hearing those names. In my head. It’s fucking <em> maddening.</em>” Crowley shoved his hands through his hair again. “Why <em> those </em> names? They don’t have anything in common, except for the Biblical implications. And why <em> this </em>girl?”</p><p>He tossed the papers he still held to the ground, where they fanned across the floor. </p><p>“That same face, over and over and <em> over</em>. I can’t stop drawing her, and I have no idea who she <em> fucking </em> is!” Crowley groaned, burying his face in his hands. “She’s in my dreams every blessed night, Aziraphale. I can’t sleep, I can’t stop thinking about her, and I don’t even know who she <em> is--</em>” </p><p>“She’s your daughter.”</p><p>The angel’s voice was so faint, Crowley nearly missed his words. He lifted his head and stared at Aziraphale.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You couldn’t decide on a name for her. You used to leave lists like this one all over the flat.” Aziraphale swallowed, his eyes still on the paper he held. “When she was born...you called her Talitha.” </p><p>The world tilted around him. “<em> What </em>?”</p><p>“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale closed his eyes. A single tear leaked down his cheek. “I have been such a fool.” </p><p>“Aziraphale, if you don’t start making sense <em> right this second</em>--” </p><p>“Adam was right, Crowley. Anathema, too,” Aziraphale said quietly. “You <em> are </em>missing some memories. Seventy-six years of them. Only this isn’t Hell’s doing, nor is it Heaven’s.” </p><p>Aziraphale finally looked at him, his blue eyes bright with unshed tears. “<em>I </em>took those memories from you.” </p><p>Crowley stared at him. Betrayal churned hot in his gut. This corporation couldn’t get sick, but right now, all Crowley wanted to do was throw up.</p><p>“I don’t understand,” he managed. “Why would you--why would you do that to me? And what does it have to do with <em> her</em>?”</p><p>“Oh, my dear, it has <em> everything </em> to do with her.” Aziraphale sank onto the couch. He dropped the paper he held and buried his face in his hands. He spoke to the floor when he said, “You didn’t speak to me for ten years after you asked me for that holy water. It wasn’t a long time, all things considered, but I was--worried. Our paths finally crossed again in Spain in the early 1870s and I...I was just so <em> relieved</em>, Crowley. I thought something might have happened to you--or that you might have happened to yourself. You could have been destroyed, and I would never have known.” </p><p>Aziraphale swallowed and lifted his head. He didn’t meet Crowley’s eyes as he went on.</p><p>“I know you’re in love with me,” he said hollowly. “I know you have been for millennia. I know this because you told me. One thing led to another, you see, in Spain. We--well, we ended up in bed together. I’d been harboring...thoughts about you since <em> Hamlet</em>, and you--I never knew until then that you had been in love for far, far longer.” </p><p>This wasn’t happening. This <em> couldn’t </em> be happening. He was <em> not </em> listening to the angel tell him that all of Crowley’s angst over his feelings for Aziraphale for the past century had all been for nothing, that they had <em> had sex </em>and he couldn’t even remember it. </p><p>“You were female-presenting at the time,” Aziraphale said. “I was not. Neither of us realized that meant your corporation could get pregnant, but...you did. You--<em> we </em> had a baby. A daughter.”</p><p>Crowley’s legs gave out then. He collapsed gracelessly on the floor, landing on the pile of drawings. <em> A daughter </em>. </p><p>“This is her,” he croaked. “All this time...I’ve been drawing her.” </p><p>“Your idea of her,” Aziraphale said, his voice scraped raw. “What you imagined she would become. She didn’t live long enough for either of us to--to see her grow up.” </p><p>Crowley closed his eyes. “How long?” </p><p>“Long enough for us to fall in love with her. Long enough that it nearly destroyed us both when she died.” </p><p><em> Died</em>. He had a child, and she was dead. “Aziraphale--” </p><p>“We’re not meant to be together, you know,” Aziraphale said. “Not in that sense. Not in <em> any </em>sense. She was proof enough of that. The pregnancy almost killed you. You weren’t meant to carry a child that was partly angelic. She was born sickly, and weak, and no matter what we did, she never got better. Her demonic and angelic sides warred with each other, and it killed her.” </p><p>“<em> How long</em>?”</p><p>“Six months.” </p><p>"And where did she end up?" Crowley's voice didn't sound like his own, like the words were coming from someone else's mouth. </p><p>"What?" Aziraphale finally looked at him, his expression haunted. </p><p>"Your side or mine?" When Aziraphale continued to look at him with growing bafflement, Crowley snapped, "Her soul, Aziraphale! Where did it end up? Is she in Heaven, or did my nature condemn her to an eternity in Hell?" </p><p>Aziraphale's lips twisted, and his mouth worked for several moments before he finally said, "We don't know. We were never able to find her in either place." </p><p><em> Nowhere</em>. He had a child, she was dead, and her soul was <em> gone</em>. </p><p>"So you mean to tell me," Crowley said slowly, "that when our child was <em> dying, </em>we did <em> nothing</em>?"</p><p>"We did what we could. Human doctors couldn't fix what ailed her, and Heaven and Hell couldn't know that we were associating, let alone that we'd--" Aziraphale's voice broke, cracked right in two. "That we'd had a baby. We poured our powers into her, tried to keep her two essences from destroying each other. It worked for a few months. You prayed to Raphael every night. The healer. Begged him to save her.”</p><p>"And you?" Crowley snarled. "Did <em> you </em>pray for her? Did you beg the Almighty to save your daughter's life?"</p><p>"No," Aziraphale said. "The Almighty hasn't spoken to me since the Garden. I didn't see the point." </p><p>Crowley slumped the rest of the way to the floor, pressing his forehead to the cool tile. His fingers curled into the scattered pages, crumpling the drawings in his hands, and he <em> screamed </em>. A wordless, inhuman cry that reverberated through the flat. </p><p>"And <em> when </em> ," Crowley hissed when he could breathe again, "did you <em> sssteal </em>my memoriesss of her?"</p><p>“Not until the next century," Aziraphale said. "We spent decades searching for her soul, and we never found it, and with every failure you...deteriorated. You stopped following orders from Hell, you took unnecessary risks and got discorporated half a dozen times...I soon realized that either Hell was going to destroy you for good, or you were going to destroy yourself. So, I took your memories. It was 1938 then. This country was on the cusp of war, and I was needed on the front lines, but I refused to leave you behind in such a poor state. I removed seventy-six years' worth of memories, rewinding the clock to 1862. I put you to bed in your flat, and then I cleared it of all the belongings you had collected during those years. When you woke up, you would think that you had gone to sleep after our fight. You thought you had napped for almost eighty years. You were never supposed to know any different." </p><p>Aziraphale worked the signet ring off his finger and held it reverently in the palm of his hand. A distant part of Crowley's mind, the part that wasn't still hysterically screaming, noted that he had only seen Aziraphale start wearing the ring after their fight. </p><p>"I put your memories in this," Aziraphale said quietly. "I've kept it with me ever since. We’ve spent so much time together since Armageddon that I suppose the memories have been leaking through. Affecting you. There's no point in trying to keep them from you any longer."</p><p>He gently placed the ring on the table in front of the sofa. Crowley couldn't take his eyes off it.</p><p>"Anathema," he said. "You didn't want me to know about her baby. You thought it would trigger my memories, only it was the ring that did it all along." </p><p>Aziraphale's mouth twisted.</p><p>"Not quite," he said softly. "<em>I </em>didn't want to see her baby. I know it was terribly selfish of me, my dear, but I couldn't bear to. I honestly didn't anticipate the baby having...quite that affect on you." </p><p>"You could have taken my memories again," Crowley said dully, the words ash in his mouth. "You can do it right now. Remove this entire conversation from my mind." </p><p>"I could," Aziraphale conceded. "But you would figure it out again, and I can't bear to have this conversation each time that you do."</p><p>"You <em> lied </em>to me. All those years, Aziraphale!"</p><p>"Do you think I enjoyed it?" Aziraphale snapped. "Mourning our daughter on my own for the past eighty years? Mourning everything we were trying to build together, everything I had to erase?" </p><p>"You never should have done it in the first place!" </p><p>"I couldn't lose you, too!" </p><p>"Get out," Crowley said. “Just--go.” </p><p>Aziraphale stared at him for a beat, and then gave a jerky nod. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled something out, which he set gently on the table next to the ring. Then, he let himself out the front door, and closed it quietly behind him. </p><p>Crowley went over to the table. He sank to his knees beside it, and brushed trembling fingers over the photograph he had found in Aziraphale’s bookshop all those months ago.</p><p>
  <em> T, 1873 </em>
</p><p>Talitha.</p><p>****</p><p>Crowley didn't touch the ring. </p><p>He sat on the sofa for hours after Aziraphale left, immobile, staring at the photograph. His daughter. His <em> baby</em>. He had carried her, delivered her, poured everything he had in trying to save her...and yet, this was the photograph of a stranger. Looking at it stirred no memories for him, only a sense of <em> wrongness. </em> It was <em> wrong </em>that she no longer existed. That they had fought so hard to bring her into the world, fought so hard to save her, and had lost her anyway. </p><p>That Aziraphale had taken this from him, and would have kept it from him forever if he could. </p><p>"Raphael," he muttered. "You son of a <em> bitch </em>." </p><p>He hurled his half-finished glass of whiskey across the room. It shattered on impact, and liquid dripped down the slate wall.</p><p>"Was this Her doing, then?" he hissed. "That's a favorite of Hers, isn't it, killing children as punishment. Or was this you? You saw that a demon had created an offspring with an angel. Heaven forbid that child be allowed to live."</p><p>He slid off the sofa to his knees. It was a foolish, useless thing, but he did it anyway: bowed his head and closed his eyes and <em> prayed </em>. </p><p>
  <em> Bring her back to me.  </em>
</p><p>Of course, nothing happened. What had he expected? He was still a demon, and archangels did not answer demon prayers. He had no business praying at all, but what else could he do? </p><p>
  <em> Bring her back bring her back bring her back </em>
</p><p>"Give back what you took from me, you feckless coward," he hissed. "What you took from <em> him </em>. Guardian of the Eastern Gate, does that mean nothing? Hasn't he served your Almighty blindly, without question, for six thousand years? Even when everyone turned their backs on him, he still believed. He still was loyal. That wasn't good enough for you, you piece of shit?" </p><p>Still nothing. Crowley opened his eyes, which fell on the photograph once again.</p><p>"Let me see her," he whispered. "One last time. Let me hold her." </p><p>Nothing happened--until it did. A wave of warmth washed over him, and his flat dissolved before his eyes.</p><p>Crowley found himself kneeling on a cold, white floor in a cold, white room. He got to his feet warily, the presence of holy energy prickling his skin. </p><p>An angel stood before him. Not one that he recognized, but then, all the angels he had known had been wiped from his memory when he Fell.</p><p>“Crowley,” the angel greeted with a warm smile. His wings were out--and so, Crowley noticed with a shock, were his own. </p><p>“What,” he said slowly, “am I doing here?” </p><p>"I heard your prayer." The smile slipped from the angel’s face. "I heard all of them, in fact. This has been the first one I could answer."</p><p>"Raphael," Crowley said warily. "Why did you summon me?"</p><p>"You summoned yourself. Before the Apocalypse--well, the failed Apocalypse--it never would have worked. But you're no longer an agent of Hell, and if I can answer your prayers, I will. This was one I could answer." Raphael held out his arms. "You wanted to hold your baby one last time. That prayer, I can grant." </p><p>As Crowley watched, Raphael's arms became encased in a white, blinding glow. When the light faded, he was left holding a small bundle. </p><p>"She has always been here," Raphael said softly. "But her soul is different. She's neither angel, nor demon, nor human. How could you have found her, if you didn't even know what you were looking for?"</p><p>A soft <em> whoosh </em>filled the silence that followed, and Aziraphale materialized at Crowley's side.</p><p>"Aziraphale," Raphael said, inclining his head. "Welcome. It's been many years since you prayed to me. I must admit, I believed that I would never hear from you again."</p><p>"It's been many years since I believed that praying to you was any use," Aziraphale said coolly. He took a step forward, standing slightly in front of Crowley and extending a wing to block him from Raphael's direct line of fire. "What's the meaning of this?"</p><p>"You two were the ones who prayed to me just now," Raphael said mildly. "I have not brought either of you here against your will. I will not force you to stay, and none of the other archangels can sense your presence--for the moment. Aziraphale, please stand down." </p><p>"Aziraphale," Crowley said thickly. "Aziraphale, please, he has--"</p><p>Aziraphale seemed to notice the bundle then, for his wings vanished at once and the tension left his shoulders. </p><p>"Thank you." Raphael stepped forward. Crowley brought his arms up automatically, and Raphael passed the bundle to him. "Neither of you can remain in Heaven forever, and after this, you won’t be able to return. That is what it means to be on your own side. This is only a temporary visit, and one I won’t be able to grant again. I will keep the wards up for as long as possible, to shield you from the others. I’ll return only when I can hold them back no longer.”  </p><p>He vanished. </p><p>Crowley looked down at the bundle nestled in the crook of his arm. With one trembling finger, he pulled the edge of the blanket away from the baby's face, revealing dark hair and gold eyes and round, pink cheeks. A sob punched its way out of his chest, and he pressed his fist to his mouth. Aziraphale let out a slow breath.</p><p>"Hello, my dear," he whispered, running the back of his finger down the baby's soft cheek. "It's so good to see you again." </p><p>Talitha worked a fist loose from her blankets and waved it in the air, mouth open in a toothless smile. She latched onto Aziraphale's finger, wrapping her tiny hand around it. </p><p>"Angel, she's beautiful." How could something this lovely possibly have come from him?</p><p>"That's what you said the first time you held her, too." Aziraphale continued to stroke the baby's cheek. "You haven't touched the ring, have you?"</p><p>Crowley said nothing. Aziraphale nodded to himself.</p><p>"That's alright, dear. You don't have to, if you don't want. I can remember for the both of us." Aziraphale's face was wet with tears. "Please, may I--" </p><p>Crowley handed Talitha to him. Aziraphale accepted her with ease, as he had with Lilith, and something in Crowley’s chest rent itself in two.</p><p>“Oh, Talitha,” Aziraphale murmured, peppering her tiny face with kisses. “It’s been so long, my love, and I am so sorry. We looked for you, I promise. We couldn’t find you. But we never--forgot you.”</p><p>His voice cracked. Crowley had to restrain himself from reaching out, resist the urge to pull Aziraphale and Talitha into his arms and never let them go.  </p><p>"I'm so sorry," Aziraphale whispered to her. He nuzzled her cheek, tears dripping onto her face, and she giggled. The sound of her laughter drove shards of glass into Crowley's heart. "I'm so sorry, my love, that we weren't--we weren’t <em> there </em>." </p><p>"What?” Crowley managed, dread coiling low in his belly. How else had they failed their baby? “What are you talking about?” </p><p>"We weren't there," Aziraphale said, his voice choked. "When she died, we weren't--we weren't <em> there </em>. We put her down for a nap, just for an hour. When you went to check on her, she--" </p><p>He broke off, unable to continue, and covered his face with his free hand. Crowley did the only thing he could think of, and took Aziraphale into his arms.</p><p>Talitha let out a tiny squawk as she found herself abruptly pressed between her parents, more in startlement than distress. Crowley cupped her head in his palm, stroking his thumb over her fine hair.</p><p>“I’m sorry, little love,” he whispered. “Papa needed a hug, is all.”</p><p>“That’s you,” Aziraphale whispered. He sniffed. “You were going to be Papa.”</p><p><em> Papa </em>. Crowley felt as though someone was pulling his spine, vertebra by vertebra, from his back. His legs wouldn’t hold him anymore, and he sank onto a couch that materialized behind him. Aziraphale sat next to him, his eyes never leaving Talitha’s face. </p><p>“I always wondered why I never Fell,” Aziraphale murmured. “I gave away the flaming sword and lied to the Almighty about it, and I’ve been a rubbish angel ever since. Then Talitha happened, and losing her--I realized <em> that </em>was my punishment.” </p><p>He looked at Crowley, his eyes bloodshot, tears streaking his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, my dear, that my sins brought this pain on both of us. If I could have spared you it...well, I tried.” </p><p>Crowley drew him close, pressed his forehead to Aziraphale’s temple and breathed him in. Sandalwood and dust, parchment and fresh rain. </p><p>“Tell me more,” he whispered. “Tell me about her. About us.” </p><p>“She was with us for so short a time, I don’t--”</p><p>“<em> Please </em>.”</p><p>Aziraphale drew a shuddering breath. </p><p>“She was born in the hottest part of summer. It was just the two of us. We’d discussed having a midwife--we’d have to wipe her mind after--but the baby came so quickly that there wasn’t time to call one. It was such an awful pregnancy--you suffered immensely, my dear--but the birth was so smooth. No sooner had we gotten you settled on the bed than she was in my arms.” </p><p>Crowley brushed his fingers over Talitha’s cheek. She giggled and sucked one into her mouth, chewing on it happily.</p><p>“She was happy,” Aziraphale whispered. “Despite everything. Despite how sick she was. The happiest child. She liked your hair, when you wore it long. Always was tugging on it. She had this...this stuffed bear. She slept with it every night.”</p><p>Crowley had seen that same stuffed bear in Aziraphale’s back room, high atop a shelf. “You still have it.”</p><p>“I do,” Aziraphale said. </p><p>“How were we going to do it, then?” Crowley asked. “Raise her, I mean. Heaven and Hell couldn’t know, and two men living together with a child in the 1870s…” </p><p>“We pretended to be married,” Aziraphale said. “It was easy enough to do. You still presented as a woman, after the birth. At least until your corporation recovered. We moved to France when you were strong enough, and that’s when you reverted to your usual form. I changed my form to present as your wife instead, and she was our child. No one asked questions. We could both perform our duties from there--the Arrangement had never been so useful. One of us could stay with Talitha, and the other carried out both our orders.” </p><p>Aziraphale tightened his hold, and Talitha gazed at him with adoring golden eyes.</p><p>“Until she got worse, that is,” he whispered. “Then we both started shirking our duties, taking credit from humans where we could in order to keep our sides off our backs. We wanted to be with her every moment, every <em> second </em>. She slept in our arms each night. I don’t think there was a single moment when she was out of our sight, when we weren’t loving her with everything that we had. Until…” </p><p>Until one day when they put her down for a nap, and stepped away. Just for a moment. </p><p>Aziraphale shuddered with a barely-repressed sob. <em> Sod it </em>, Crowley thought, and pulled him into a tight embrace, so that Aziraphale ended up half in his lap, huddled against him with Talitha in his arms. </p><p>He had no concept of how long they sat like that, as close as two beings could be without sharing the same corporation. Eventually, Aziraphale shifted Talitha back into his arms, and Crowley cuddled her while Aziraphale leaned against him, a hand warm on his thigh. Crowley kissed her forehead, her plump cheeks, the hand she used to try to grab his nose. </p><p>“My little beast,” he whispered fondly. Aziraphale rested his head against Crowley’s. “Did you read to her?”</p><p>“Of course,” Aziraphale said. “Every night. Not that she could understand a word I was saying, but I quite enjoyed it. And so did you, my dear.” </p><p>Talitha started to fuss. Crowley blinked down at her. It wasn’t physically possible for her to be hungry, nor could she have soiled herself. </p><p>“Oh, I know that cry,” Aziraphale said, and there was a smile in his voice. “She wants to be upright. Like this.” </p><p>He adjusted Talitha in Crowley’s arms so that she could rest her head on his shoulder, and he supported her with an arm under her bottom. He rubbed her back, and she pressed her face against the fabric of his shirt, gurgling happily.</p><p>“You like that, do you?” Crowley murmured. He leaned back against the couch, tugging Aziraphale with his free hand. Aziraphale went easily, curling up against his side, the heat of him seeping into Crowley’s skin. Crowley rested his cheek against the top of Aziraphale’s head. He asked, quietly, “Did we do this, too?”</p><p>Aziraphale was quiet for so long that Crowley assumed he wasn’t going to answer.</p><p>“Yes,” he said finally. “We sat together like this with her almost every night.” </p><p>“We were actually going to make a go of it, then?” Crowley asked. “Be on our own side?” </p><p>He felt Aziraphale nod. </p><p>“When she died, I realized that meant we never could,” he said. “So when you brought it up again, at the end of the world...I said no.” </p><p>There was no concept of time in Heaven. Crowley couldn’t help but think in terms of it, after having been on Earth for so long. He had no idea how long they sat there with Talitha, taking turns holding her, savoring these final moments. Kissing her and hugging her and letting her grab their hair. She babbled at them, and they talked back like they understood her, and it was the happiest Crowley could remember being.</p><p>And then, Raphael returned. </p><p>“The wards are wearing off. The other archangels will be able to sense your presence soon,” he said. He held out his arms for Talitha. “I must take her back, and you need to leave.” </p><p>Crowley recoiled. Aziraphale had an arm around his waist, and he tightened it instinctively.</p><p>“Please,” he said hoarsely, “is there any way--” </p><p>“No,” Raphael said. </p><p>“We defied Heaven and Hell. Survived holy water and hellfire. Averted Armageddon,” Aziraphale said. “And, despite all of that, we can’t take our daughter home with us?”</p><p>“You could,” Raphael said, though he sounded weary. “You could, Aziraphale, I cannot physically stop you. But you will lose her again. I can’t prevent that, and neither can you.” </p><p>“But--”</p><p>“Aziraphale.” Crowley’s voice was raw, and wholly unlike him. Aziraphale turned anguished eyes on him.</p><p>“No,” he said, but Crowley shook his head.</p><p>“I won’t let her die again. She needs--she needs to stay here.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s face crumpled. </p><p>“You’re right, of course.” He looked like he had swallowed glass. “She’ll stay.” </p><p>Crowley handed Talitha to him. Aziraphale held her close, nuzzled her cheek, murmured words to her that were too soft for Crowley to hear. He kissed her, and then placed her back in Crowley’s arms. </p><p>This was the last time he was ever going to hold her. The last time he would stroke her cheek, kiss her forehead, hear her giggle. He pressed his nose to her fine hair, breathing her in. He could never, <em> ever </em>allow himself to forget that scent. </p><p>But human corporations were flawed, imperfect things, and he knew it would fade from his memory.</p><p>“The wards are failing,” Raphael said again, a note of urgency in his voice. “Her soul is safe with me, I promise you. I will watch over it for all eternity.” </p><p>“Does she know?” It was all he could manage, an inadequate question meant to encompass all the confused thoughts in his head. </p><p>“Her soul has manifested as an infant here, since that is the last form you saw her in and the one you would remember,” Raphael said. “But she is aware of what’s happening, yes. She knows that you are her parents. She knows that she died. She knows that you weren’t able to find her, and after this moment, you won’t be able to see her again. And, yes, Crowley: she knows that you love her.” </p><p>Raphael held out his arms. Heart cleaving in two, Crowley passed the bundle to him. He retreated, and Aziraphale grabbed his hand. </p><p>“Safe travels, my brothers,” Raphael said, and with a wave of his hand, the room dissolved around him. </p><p>They were back in Crowley’s flat. Aziraphale drew one shuddering breath, and then his legs gave out. He sank to the floor, heedless of the dust and the creases it would leave in his trousers. </p><p><em> Dust </em>, Crowley thought numbly. When he’d last been in this flat, it had been spotless. They must have been gone for weeks, though it only felt like moments. Crowley sat heavily beside Aziraphale. His eyes fell on the table, and snagged on the photograph.</p><p>“Is that our only one of her?” he asked hoarsely, like he hadn’t used this corporation’s vocal cords in weeks. </p><p>“We had five done. You know how difficult it was to get a photograph in that era--well, I suppose you don’t,” Aziraphale said. “I have the others. All the mementos from our life together...I kept it all, but you were over at the bookshop so often that it all had to be hidden away. I didn’t mean to misplace that one.” </p><p>Aziraphale ran his hands through his hair, leaving the white-blond curls sticking up in all directions. Tears still leaked from his bloodshot eyes. He didn’t seem to notice them. His throat worked for a moment, and then he said in a tightly-controlled voice, “If you never wanted to see me again, I would understand completely.” </p><p>Crowley brushed his fingers over the back of Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale hesitated, then turned his hand over. Crowley laced their fingers together. </p><p>“Never is an awfully long time, angel.” </p><p>“It is, isn’t it,” Aziraphale said dully, and Crowley knew he was thinking about eternity. <em> Forever </em> had once seemed a delightful concept, especially in the first days after the failed Apocalypse. Eternity with this angel at his side--he couldn’t have asked for more.</p><p>Now, they faced eternity without their child, and the concept of forever had never seemed more horrific. </p><p>Crowley leaned his head against Aziraphale’s and closed his eyes. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel this exhausted, this wrung out. This <em> wretched </em>. </p><p>“I don’t want to do this without you,” he whispered. “Angel, I <em> can’t </em>.” </p><p>Aziraphale’s smile was a thin, tremulous thing. </p><p>“I’m not going anywhere, dear. And I meant what I said. If you don’t want to remember, then I will never force you, nor will I hold it against you,” he said gently. “But if you mean that you want...<em> me </em>, then I must ask you to put on the ring, Crowley. I can’t--I can’t give you myself, wholly and completely, if I am also withholding the memories of our child, and grieving alone. Please don’t ask that of me.” </p><p>The ring lay on the table where Aziraphale had left it. Crowley reached out, and picked it up.</p><p>And then</p><p>he remembered.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It ended, as it always did, in a garden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley prowled up and down the rows of plants, hissing at the ones that dared show the slightest imperfection and scowling at the ones where he could discern no physical flaws, so those plants knew that he was still keeping a close eye on them and they were expected to be nothing short of perfect. He was particularly vehement with some rebellious azaleas, and the baby strapped to his chest started to fuss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, I didn’t mean it,” he said in a bright voice, bouncing Asher in his arms while glaring at the azaleas. “Good plants, </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice </span>
  </em>
  <span>plants. They’ll make Anathema proud, I’m sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continued to scowl at the azaleas even as he cooed happily at them, so they knew that he didn’t mean a word of what he was saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you were in my garden,” he leaned close to whisper to them, “I’d have torn you out </span>
  <em>
    <span>agesssss </span>
  </em>
  <span>ago and turned you into </span>
  <em>
    <span>mulch</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, and Asher settled once again. He didn’t seem inclined to go back to sleep, content now that he was awake to regard the activity around him with wide-eyed fascination. The Them were playing a game Crowley hadn’t yet been able to discern the rules of, while five-year-old Lilith, hopelessly in love with Adam, chased after them. Anathema and Aziraphale were deep in conversation up by the cottage. Newt was sprawled on the lawn, watching the children with that same dead-eyed stare Crowley had come to associate with extreme sleep deprivation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keeping your dad up at night, hm?” he murmured to Asher, and kissed his cheek. “Good for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anathema had hosted this gathering at Jasmine Cottage for the past three years. Ostensibly, it was a belated birthday party for Adam, but it was always held on the anniversary of the failed Apocalypse. Aziraphale and Crowley were slightly reluctant attendees (Crowley less so than Aziraphale, because it meant he got to see the children), but even a mostly-human Adam Young still unsettled them, and they never felt quite right refusing a request from the former Antichrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked over as Crowley strolled up to the house, and beamed at him. They’d only been separated for half an hour, but somehow Aziraphale always managed to look as happy to see him as if they’d been apart for months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, darling,” he said when Crowley bent to kiss him. Asher giggled as he was tipped sideways. “And goodness, look at you. You’re getting big.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale stroked the back of a finger down Asher’s plump cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to hold him, angel?” Crowley asked, because this too was part of their ritual. He always offered, or Anathema did, and Aziraphale always declined. But still, this was progress--it had taken them nearly five years to get to the point where Aziraphale could visit the children and be the loving godfather they needed; to get to the point where watching Lilith grow didn’t make him resentful of all that Talitha would never have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, dearest, I think he’s much happier with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s going to want Book Girl soon. He’s getting hungry,” Crowley said lightly, ignoring the creeping disappointment at having to give up the baby so soon. He was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>demon</span>
  </em>
  <span>, even if he wasn’t a very good one, and demons did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> crave cuddling human babies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, Asher squirmed in the confines of the baby carrier and made a plaintive noise. Crowley reflexively started to sway, bringing his hands up to cradle the infant against him. He calmed almost instantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no need to give him up for that. I’ll get you a bottle,” Anathema said, and disappeared into the house. She emerged a few minutes later with a warm bottle, and Crowley walked back to the garden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He perched on the low garden wall, undid the carrier that held Asher secured to his chest, and settled the baby in the crook of his arm. Asher took to the bottle happily, blue eyes gazing up at Crowley adoringly while he ate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have no right to be that cute,” Crowley muttered, and dropped a kiss on top of the baby’s head. “No right at all. S’rude, is what that is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Asher continued to look nothing short of adorable, so Crowley had to also kiss his cheek, and then his fingers. Asher made a grab for his hair as it fell around Crowley’s face, getting a fist tangled in it. A quick miracle prevented him from yanking any strands out, or causing any pain. But if Asher wanted to play with his hair, who was Crowley to deny him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was so wrapped up in the baby that he didn’t even notice Adam until he settled next to Crowley on the low wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shifted, discreetly putting a couple of inches between them. Even seven years on, the boy still gave him chills. Adam was benign nowadays, a perfectly normal human, except for his uncanny ability to see right through Crowley when Crowley was least prepared for it. And even if Adam was a Young through and through now, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been the son of Satan. The child of the most terrifying being Crowley had ever known, the child who had nearly ended existence itself. Crowley’s instinctive urge to run whenever Adam was near was primal, and not easily reprogrammed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He likes you,” Adam said by way of greeting, nodding at Asher. “Never does that with me. Think I’ve held him twice and he cried his head off both times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Crowley said to Asher, and Adam snorted.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was America?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Terrible, as usual,” Crowley said. He’d never needed to spend much time over there sowing discontent, corruption, and temptation--the Americans did well enough at that on their own. In fact, he largely tried to avoid the whole continent, but Warlock’s eighteenth birthday had been last week, and a visit from his former nanny and gardener was long overdue. It had taken two months and a fair number of demonic miracles to track him down in a boarding school in California, and the reunion had been--Crowley shook his head, forcing the memories away. He didn’t feel like tearing up in front of the Antichrist. Well, former Antichrist. Suffice to say, Warlock was doing well, and Crowley wasn’t going to let another seven years pass before they saw each other again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lilith, who had temporarily been distracted by Pepper and Brian, noticed then that Adam had broken off from the group and came running over to him. He caught her under the arms and hoisted her into the air, and she squealed as he spun her in a circle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, say hello to your Uncle Crowley,” he said, setting her on the wall. She fell against Crowley’s shoulder, and he paused in feeding Asher to wrap an arm around her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, my little hellion.” He pressed a noisy kiss to her cheek, and she giggled. “Are you having fun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. “Missed you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like being a big sister?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scrunched up her face. “No.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam laughed. Crowley tightened the arm around her waist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No? You don’t like the baby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He cries a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My poor darling,” Crowley said, already making a mental note to soundproof her room with a little miracle before they left today. Asher could keep his parents up all he wanted, without disturbing Lilith. “He won’t be like this for much longer. He’ll grow up soon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He better,” she said decisively. She hopped down from the wall and grabbed Adam’s hand. “Come play!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In a moment,” Adam said. She pouted, and he ruffled her hair. “Go say hi to Uncle Az. You haven’t seen him yet. I’ll be right behind you, I promise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She dashed off. Crowley watched as she sprinted across the lawn and launched herself into Aziraphale’s arms. He swung her up in the air and settled her on a hip, not breaking in his conversation with Anathema, though he did pause long enough to kiss her cheek and say his hellos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s come a long way,” Adam commented, and Crowley nodded. “Did you ever think you’d be here? Sitting here, in a garden, seven years after the end of the world?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Crowley said. He resumed feeding the baby. “The night that you were born, I thought that was it. Thought to myself, well, the Earth had a good run. Sorry to see it go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam looked at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you didn’t,” he said. “You risked destruction for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley snorted. “Hardly. We were so incompetent, we raised the wrong kid for eleven years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not talking about that,” Adam said. “After, I mean. You switched places, yeah? Took each other’s punishments.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley didn’t even think to ask how he knew. His mind was too full of static suddenly, and cold panic gripped him. Did Heaven know? Did Hell? If either of their sides found out that they’d been so thoroughly duped--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They don’t know,” Adam said, jerking Crowley back to the present. “Neither side does. Only me. I mention it cos you didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to switch."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Crowley said blankly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You could have withstood the holy water. He would have survived hellfire. You didn’t know it at the time, but it’s true. You two are more alike now than you are different. More like each other than like your former sides. I can see it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam tapped his temple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your auras,” he went on. “They look like no one else’s. Even at the airbase, I could see it, and it’s even more apparent now. They don’t look like human auras, or angel auras, or even demon ones. They’re new. They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>yours</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Just the two of you have ‘em.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Asher finished his bottle. Crowley burped him, then secured him in the carrier once more. He settled both hands on the baby’s back, and Asher snuggled into his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you telling me this?” he asked finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam shrugged and got up. “You were too different, back when she was born. That’s not the case anymore. Thought you might like to know, that’s all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a few moments after Adam left, Crowley thought he was alone. But then the rustle of clothing signaled Aziraphale’s arrival, and he glanced over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much of that did you hear?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, nearly all of it, I should think.” Aziraphale came around the wall and sat on his other side. He leaned in to kiss the sleeping baby. Asher didn’t even stir. Crowley caught the wistful look on his face, and knew he was remembering when Talitha was this small. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She threw up on you all the time,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale burst out laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She did,” he said fondly. “I don’t know why it happened to me more than to you. Although I believe she urinated on you more.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babies are disgusting,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale hummed in agreement. “Angel...do you think Adam was telling us what I think he’s telling us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “I believe so, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat in companionable silence for a while, shoulders pressed together, Asher sleeping to the rhythmic rise and fall of Crowley’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you want to?” Crowley asked finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right now? No,” Aziraphale said. “Some day in the future? Perhaps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most days, Crowley felt the same. He thought about it, every once in a while. It was never more than a passing thought, dismissed as quickly as it appeared. But it was still there, in the back of his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I didn’t want to try again, would this be enough?” Aziraphale asked quietly. “Just the two of us, would that be enough for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel.” Crowley leaned over and nuzzled his cheek. “You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>than enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale tangled their fingers together. The sun was sinking now behind the trees, and shadows encroached the garden. Cool air prickled Crowley's skin. They would go inside when it was fully dark, and Anathema would serve cake while Aziraphale made tea. Crowley would put Asher to bed in his crib and then encourage Anathema to let Lilith stay up past her bedtime so they could play. Anathema would protest but ultimately give in, because when it came to the children, Crowley nearly always got his way. He knew he was being indulged, and didn’t care in the slightest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for now, there was this: Aziraphale’s warm hand in his, the baby asleep on his chest, the flowers that rippled in the light breeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was enough.</span>
</p>
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